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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787629">never leaving well enough alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sina/pseuds/sina'>sina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post Zimbits Divorce, Post-Canon, pet death - mentioned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:39:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sina/pseuds/sina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A box of mementos reminds Jack of something he used to have. </p>
<p>And he wants it back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann (past), Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. and it would've been sweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/gifts">palateens</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome! Time for a new fic, it seems. This one goes out to Pau! Thanks for your help on 'hard feelings!'</p>
<p>This fic, and its title, were inspired by 'the 1' by Taylor Swift, because for once I didn't sleep on a new album. </p>
<p>Extra thanks for chapter one go to Sam for everything, Raven for the beta read, Pau again because I can, and the all discord folks because I love you all.</p>
<p>The only important thing you need to know before reading is that this takes place after Jack and Bitty get a divorce. This is also assuming that Kent stopped talking to Jack after the events of canon (you know which events I mean).</p>
<p>That's all from me! Thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Falcs go down to the Aces, 3-1 at home, and Jack blames his personal lack of points entirely on how distracted he’s been lately. The main problem is that the distraction, what has haunted him for weeks, is on the ice whenever he is.</p>
<p>It doesn’t help that Kent has been ignoring him, on the ice and off. It’s not like Kent to take these games personally, anymore, but even if it were, it’s also not like him not to acknowledge Jack at all. Every instance of eye contact has been at the faceoff -- at one point, Jack had tried to steal the puck, a battle in the corner of the ice that ended with him momentarily victorious, and Kent had sworn under his breath before stealing it back. That time, he hadn’t even looked at Jack’s face, despite Jack being close enough to see the brown of Kent’s eyes.</p>
<p>It’s been months since they’ve seen each other -- before last season’s playoffs -- and longer than that since they’ve spoken, but it still shakes Jack at his core.</p>
<p>Kent’s been on his mind a lot -- ever since his mom called a couple weeks after the divorce was final, after he had left Bittle in the house they had shared. Jack started out in a new house north of downtown, with very little packed into his Wrangler, bound for what he continues to hope are better things, though he has yet to gather any proof. In the interim, his mother had insisted on a landline, and she used it to call him with a curious question. </p>
<p>“Hi, <i>mon chou</i>, it’s me.”</p>
<p>“Hi. Anything going on?”</p>
<p>“Well, I just thought that now that you’re, well, single again… I found an old skate box in your room years ago, and I thought it might be... um, special, somehow, if you hadn’t thrown it out after the hospital.”</p>
<p>Jack can picture the dusty, battered box with tape around the lid. It’s as clear in his mind as the day he left home for Samwell. He groans. “I hope I don’t have to tell you that it’s not porn.”</p>
<p>“So I can open it safely?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say that.”</p>
<p>She chuckles. “Well, do you want it? I can send it overnight. Maybe something in it can decorate your new place.”</p>
<p>“It’s... stuff from Rimouski, <i>Maman</i>. I… I don’t need it.” He doesn’t think he’s lying.</p>
<p>“Well if that’s what it is, I want you to have it. Keep an eye on your mailbox, you can throw it out yourself when it arrives if you want to.”</p>
<p>Of course, when it does arrive, he can’t help but peek. After peeling back the tape and lifting the lid, he’s greeted with a mess of mementos -- a couple pucks, a handful of Polaroids and disposable camera prints, game tickets, and even the little embroidery floss bracelet Kent’s little sister had made and asked Kent to send him for Christmas. Scraps of paper. An ancient BIC lighter and a half-empty pack of the cigarettes Kent used to sneak at parties.</p>
<p>Jack sets the cigarettes aside, intending to throw them away. He picks up the Polaroids and thumbs through a couple. The top is a photo of a mess of teen boys in Rimouski Océanic hoodies, some of them flashing middle fingers or peace signs at the camera. The next is a photo of Jack, rounder-faced and young, goofily sticking his tongue out, giving Foxy bunny ears. There’s another of Kent and Beau jousting with toy hockey sticks. Another, of the two of them in the back of Shoresy’s minivan, smoke in the air, Kent’s palm badly concealing a glass pipe. Jack looks like he’s in the middle of saying something; Kent is grinning at him. Then, there’s one of him sleeping on a charter bus, his head on Kent’s shoulder, Kent’s head leaned on top of Jack’s. </p>
<p>That one makes Jack pause. He doesn’t remember seeing it before. He sifts through the rest of the photos, loathe to admit to himself that he doesn’t remember almost any of them. </p>
<p>He’s surprised by the pang he feels in his chest when he looks back at that photo of Kent and him napping together.</p>
<p>He’s surprised by the hollow feeling in his stomach when he reaches into the box to pick up a faded piece of paper, clearly ripped from a notebook, folded up and delivered across a classroom, once upon a time. He’s surprised even more when he opens it and all it says is: “ZIMMS - LIBRARY AFTER SCHOOL!”</p>
<p>He’s surprised by how little it reveals, and more surprised how much it hurts that he doesn’t get anything more. Why did he save this sheet of paper? What happened that day that made such a simple note special enough to keep? The questions leave him simultaneously tired and desperate -- how much else is he missing? How much more was there, how many details that are lost now? </p>
<p>He’s felt slightly unmoored since he left Bittle, but he’s never felt as lost as this. </p>
<p>He gently replaces the box’s contents, including the cigarettes, and places it in the back of his closet. It’s left him feeling unnerved.</p>
<p>The feeling starts to nag at him. It does not stop.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>___</p>
</div><p>Weeks after diving into the Rimouski mementos, and after the game against the Aces, Jack texts Kent: <i>"I don’t know if this is still your number, but can we talk?"</i></p>
<p>After he showers, talks to the press, and drives home, he still has no answer. He supposes that, if he hasn’t gotten one by now, it’s not going to come. </p>
<p>He grumbles. He’ll need a new plan. </p>
<p>After a few restless hours, he decides that he’s not about to sleep any time soon, and decides to go for a drive. When he leaves the house, the sky looks ominous, crowded with dark clouds.</p>
<p>Half an hour later, it’s pouring rain like it’s the end of the world. Jack can’t even see through the curtain of water; it’s made all the worse by the gleaming lights reflecting in every wet surface, glowing on the waterlogged pavement. He’s downtown, not far from Parse’s hotel, but how would he ever get ahold of him? </p>
<p>He sighs in frustration. </p>
<p>Jack pulls over. The rain is just too heavy to drive in it right now, and he doesn’t particularly feel like capping off a loss by hydroplaning into a lamp post. He notices suddenly that there’s someone huddled under the awning of the building he parked next to. Jack can see the figure shiver. The figure pulls its hoodie tighter around itself, and Jack thinks -- wait -- is that --</p>
<p>“Parse?” He murmurs to himself, squinting. It is, definitively, Kent Parson, huddled in the dark, shivering. Jack can barely see him through the rain, but the Aces logo emblazoned across his chest is a dead giveaway.</p>
<p>Jack twists the knob to blink the headlights, then lowers the window -- enough to be seen and heard, hopefully not enough to drench the inside of the car.</p>
<p>“Kent!” He calls out. “Get in! I’ll give you a ride!”</p>
<p>He doesn’t understand the face Kent makes, but Kent looks around -- as if searching for options, what the fuck? -- before bracing himself for the downpour and running over to Jack’s car. He slides in easily, bringing in buckets of rain with him.</p>
<p>“Zimmermann,” Kent greets him, taking his soaked hat off and running his fingers through his locks. </p>
<p>“I tried to text you after the game.” He stops himself from reaching over and fixing Kent’s endlessly messy hair. He has no idea why he still feels the impulse to do so, after all these years.</p>
<p>“I changed my number months ago.”</p>
<p>“...Oh.”</p>
<p>Kent taps his temple with his index finger and arches a brow, mocking. Jack resists the urge to grab his folded hand and yank it away. </p>
<p>Instead he says, “What are you doing outside in this?”</p>
<p>“I got caught walking back to the hotel from the bar,” Kent replies coolly. “What are you doing out right now?”</p>
<p>“I needed almond milk for a protein shake.”</p>
<p>“At this time of night?”</p>
<p>Jack huffs. “Fine, I couldn’t sleep.”</p>
<p>“‘Cause I kicked your ass?”</p>
<p>“Lots of reasons.” Jack runs his fingers over the steering wheel, considering. Perhaps this is his chance. “Hey, Parse. This is random, but. Do you remember the first time we played Halifax together, way back in 2007?”</p>
<p>“The game where we debuted the no-look one-timer.” Kent turns to look at Jack, his expression indecipherable. “What were you thinking about that for?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking about that time a lot. There’s nothing quite like how that felt, eh?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kent says, quiet. He turns away. “It did feel pretty great, though.”</p>
<p>“Wish I hadn’t ruined it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Jack.” Kent wrinkles his nose. “It’s all in the past, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Kenny, I. I’ve been wondering, euh, would you maybe wanna… I dunno, get together and catch up sometime?”</p>
<p>Kent barks a laugh. “What, so now that you’re divorced, I’m appealing again?”</p>
<p>“You’ve always been appealing,” Jack replies. It’s honest, but comes out cloying. </p>
<p>It hurts Kent to hear.</p>
<p>He just scoffs.</p>
<p>Jack knows he shouldn’t say what he wants to say, but he’s never taken his own advice very well.</p>
<p>“I’ve just… I found some photos from back then, and I’ve been thinking, and I realized that -- Kenny, I miss you.”</p>
<p>“Fuck this! I’ll walk,” Kent declares. He grabs the handle and bodies his way out of the car. He’s instantly soaked again, and he barely has time to gasp at the chill before there’s a blinding light and a horrible roll of thunder. </p>
<p>Grumbling, he flops back into the seat and slams the door shut behind him.</p>
<p>“Okay, fine, Zimms.” He sighs. “So I’m appealing and you miss me. What else?”</p>
<p>“You just called me Zimms.”</p>
<p>“Did I ever stop?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Kent looks away, plays with his cuticles, not sure what to say to that. Suddenly, he asks, “Hang on, why are you asking this now? Do you really only care again because you’re divorced?”</p>
<p>“No. Technically I chose now because you just beat us. I knew you’d be in a good mood.”</p>
<p>“You’re hilarious, Jack,” Kent says, and something about his arched lip makes Jack think it’s only half sarcastic.</p>
<p>“Do you think you’d ever consider it?”</p>
<p>“Consider what?”</p>
<p>“I dunno. You and me, together again, as friends or-or, whatever --”</p>
<p>“God. What? Seriously? What’s going on with you?”</p>
<p>“What?” Jack pauses. “I swear I’m not high.”</p>
<p>“You think I can’t tell?” Kent snaps. Jack grips the steering wheel harder.</p>
<p>“I. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“This is too sudden,” Kent replies solidly. It does not escape Jack’s attention that his hand is on the handle of the door again.</p>
<p>“I --”</p>
<p>“Jack, come on. I need -- I need time to, I don’t know, think it over. Process the idea, even. We haven’t -- fuck, Jack, this is the most we’ve said to each other in ages.”</p>
<p>“I know. I know this is sudden, I just -- I’ve wasted a lot of time not treating you the way you deserve to be treated. I’d like to change that, if you’d let me?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Kent repeats, sounding defensive. “I don’t know! I need time, Jack.”</p>
<p>“We’ve got time,” Jack responds, more eager than he means to.</p>
<p>“I -- no? I’m out of here tomorrow. Early.”</p>
<p>“So we could Facetime.”</p>
<p>“Jack, I don’t think -- I don’t think I want to do this.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you ever think about it, though?”</p>
<p>“Think about what?”</p>
<p>“I… well… us.”</p>
<p>“Jack.” Kent looks skyward, almost an eye roll. He lets out a clearly frustrated sigh. “Of course, all the time.”</p>
<p>“Then… why not? Why don’t you want to try?”</p>
<p>“I mean.” Kent rubs a hand down his face. “It would have been nice, if we had lasted, but. That wasn’t the case, you know? You didn’t want us to last.”</p>
<p>“But --”</p>
<p>“You let me go before,” Kent insists. “You’ll be fine doing it again.”</p>
<p>Jack sighs, a ragged thing. “Can I at least get you back to your hotel? So you can dry off?”</p>
<p>The rain has thinned enough that Jack can probably drive without killing them, so Kent nods tiredly and replies, “Yeah, okay.”</p>
<p>They drive in silence, the only sound the patter of the rain on the windows. Lightning streaks across the sky, quiet thunder sounding off in the distance. Kent sends a text, then leans his head back, eyes closed. Jack sneaks a glance when he pauses at a stoplight. Kent at thirty is a far cry from the Kent in the Polaroids in the box at Jack’s new place -- his under eye circles are darker, his eyes framed by the slightest suggestion of crow’s feet; but his expressive eyebrows and messy, flaxen hair are the same. Jack can’t see his freckles in the dark, but he wonders if the biggest one, to the right of Kent’s nose, is still there. He can’t believe he doesn’t know.</p>
<p>Kent says nothing when they pull up to the hotel, simply unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle one final time.</p>
<p>“Hey, uh.” Jack stumbles over what to say next.</p>
<p>Kent pauses, looks at Jack over his shoulder. He says nothing.</p>
<p>“Would you think about it? At least?” Jack knows he sounds like he’s begging. He doesn’t particularly care.</p>
<p>Kent continues to stare, breathing steadily. He shivers one last time as he opens the door and steps into the humid, chilly night. “All right, Jack. I’ll think about it.”</p>
<p>“Great,” Jack breathes. “That’s great, I --”</p>
<p>“Don’t push your luck.” Kent’s mouth quirks slightly at the side; a thoughtful face. “I might call you. I <i>might</i>.” </p>
<p>Jack smiles, and Kent grimaces, the half-smirk falling away. </p>
<p>“Don’t make me regret saying that. Thanks for the ride.” He slams the door decisively, and doesn’t look back as he makes his way into the hotel lobby.</p>
<p>Jack watches him go, hopeful.</p>
<p>When he returns home, he makes a beeline for his closet. He grabs the box, opens it, and digs for a moment until he finds what he’s looking for.</p>
<p>He finds a magnet in a moving box and presses his thumb on the sharp corner of the Polaroid before hanging it on the fridge. </p>
<p>A few days later, Jack is looking at himself, sleeping on Kent’s shoulder within the small white borders, when he hears his text alert. His phone reads: </p>
<p>NEW CONTACT INFORMATION FOUND<br/>
Maybe: Kent (725-616-9...<br/>
<i>"Hey, Jack, it’s Kent. Let me know if there’s a time that works for you soon."</i></p>
<p>Jack smiles, deeply, feeling hope and warmth blossom in his chest. He quickly texts back that he’s free that night, then sets a reminder to start getting ready at 7.</p>
<p>Teeth brushed, hair combed, and wearing a crisp new shirt that he thinks brings out his eyes, he sits down to Facetime with Kent at 7:30.</p>
<p>“Kent, hi,” he greets him when he calls. But Kent doesn’t look enthusiastic at all.</p>
<p>“You, uh. You okay? How’ve you been?”</p>
<p>“Look,” Kent starts. “You know I don’t like small talk.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Jack replies, nonplussed. “You have something to say?”</p>
<p>“I do,” Kent says, and he scratches his earlobe -- a nervous tic Jack remembers from back when they were young. “Jack, I have a boyfriend, and I think it’s getting serious.”</p>
<p>“I -- oh!” Jack exclaims. “Oh. Okay.” His stomach feels completely upended, but he manages to smile anyway. When did this happen? Why didn’t Jack know? Obviously he and Kenny had drifted further apart than he knew.</p>
<p>“That’s why I was reluctant to... do this. You said you wanted to be friends ‘or whatever,’” he says, complete with air-quotes. “So I’m telling you now it’s strictly friends or nothing.”</p>
<p>“Kenny, of course I don’t -- of course that’s okay.”</p>
<p>“I know. I just wanted to be sure you understand.”</p>
<p>“I understand.”</p>
<p>“Okay! Well then I guess, uh. We can talk about whatever you wanted to talk about.”</p>
<p>Jack smiles at that, genuine despite the static the news generated in his nerves. </p>
<p>“Sure. I’d love that.”</p>
<p>The tension in Kent’s face melts away, an easy smile taking its place. </p>
<p>As they continue to speak, Jack understands two things: first, this is a good sign; Kent might actually be interested in being friends again. </p>
<p>Second, and less positive, is that as he looks at Kent’s relieved and cheerful face, he knows he’s already fucked again, and it’s going to take some serious work to hide it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. but i knew you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Providence -- Jack included -- were in a slump, he had to admit.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Welcome to chapter 2! I hope I showed up with this chapter as well as chapter one, by which I mean, WOW, you guys were so lovely about the first chapter of this fic. Every comment made me smile and blush and turn into an idiot, and I just hope I can live up to the promise of chapter 1 at this point. Thank you all for the comments and kudos - they mean a lot to me!</p><p>My deepest thanks to Sam, primarily for the beta read, but also for talking talking out this fic's growing pains with me and cheerleading and generally just being my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you, bb!</p><p>Some housekeeping: You'll notice I swapped Skype for Facetime because this isn't 2011, and I also did some edits to chapter one, so sorry if it's noticeably a little different. Chapter title comes from Taylor Swift's 'cardigan' because apparently i'm doing the same thing I did with 'hard feelings.' </p><p>That's all from me! Some hockey notes will show up at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So,” Kent had said.</p><p>“So,” Jack had replied.</p><p>It wasn’t their most enlightened conversation.</p><p>“You wanted to catch up,” Kent continued. “So what’s up with you?”</p><p>“You know.” Jack shrugged. “Mostly hockey.”</p><p>“I’d barely call what the Falcs are doing hockey.”</p><p>“<i>Kenny</i>.” Jack sounded more hurt than he had meant to. It was true: Providence -- Jack included -- were in a slump, he had to admit. Actually, Jack reasoned, to have a slump, one must have been doing well at some point in the season; this was not the case for him or his team.</p><p>Still, it sucked to hear.</p><p>“It’s weird hearing you call me that.” Kent’s lip quirked oddly; Jack thought he looked like he smelled something rotten.</p><p>“I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable,” Jack offered sheepishly.</p><p>“Maybe, yeah. For now.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jack replied. “I, um. Anyway, yeah, I haven’t been doing much of anything.”</p><p>“Since you’re here and you wanna talk. Can I ask something really personal?” </p><p>“Um, sure, shoot.”</p><p>“You sure? Even if it’s about the divorce?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jack breathed. He still braced himself, just in case.</p><p>“You were only married for eighteen months.” Kent placed his chin in his hands, as if settling in for the long haul. “What the fuck happened, Jack?”</p><p>Jack laughed, deep and long, and Kent was grinning by the end of it. He took that as a good sign as he began, “Bittle just…” He looked off, searching for the words. “He just did this <i>thing</i>.”</p><p>“You divorced him over one thing?” Kent’s expression is torn between concern and glee.</p><p>“No, of course not.” Jack shook his head, continuing seriously, “That was just the beginning.”</p><p>“Oh my god, Jack. What did he do?”</p><p>“He... I guess he micromanaged. Like, you wouldn’t believe -- okay, hang on, this is a long story, I’m going to need water.”</p><p>Kent’s grin grew more mischievous. “Do I need to get popcorn?”</p><p>“My therapist does think it’s pretty entertaining.”</p><p>Kent cackles. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Kent’s grin was infectious; Jack was delighted to see it.</p><p>That was two weeks ago. </p><p>Since then, Jack’s life has brightened for all that Kent has been a part of it. Where he used to have a Bittle-shaped void, he now has a place to keep fresh memories of texts and snaps, jokes and chirps that came hesitantly at first, then steadily the more Jack responded in turn. </p><p>If nothing else, it gives Jack hope.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>____</p>
</div>“You guys really need to figure your shit out,” Kent says, still in the middle of cracking up. Jack adjusts the angle of his iPad so that the glare of the street light doesn’t cover Kent’s face on the screen. Kent had agreed to Facetime again, and Jack wants to make the best of it.<p>Yesterday, Providence added another tally to their mounting losses with a 10-2 blowout and utter embarrassment at the hands of Chicago. Both Falcs goals had been Jack’s; it didn’t manage to make him feel any better. </p><p>“It’s not funny,” he replies with a huff.</p><p>“I dunno, dude, I think it’s hilarious,” Parse replies between giggles. His face is flushed pink with laughter, dimples on prominent display. Jack’s stomach flutters slightly, and he smiles despite his efforts not to, while Parse sweeps his hair back (it flops back into his eyes immediately).</p><p>“Only ‘cause it didn’t happen to you!” Jack retorts.</p><p>“Well, that’s true,” he agrees, nodding. “It didn’t happen to me because my team is actually winning games this season.”</p><p>Jack rolls his eyes, his smile fading slightly. Everyone has an off game, granted, but he’ll never forgive Chicago. The entire city of Chicago. The entire <i>concept</i> of Chicago.</p><p>“If you ever do that to me, I’m disowning you,” he jokes.</p><p>“What, like how you’ve already done several times?” Kent cocks a brow pointedly. </p><p>Jack’s smile disappears completely.</p><p>“I, euh, I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”</p><p>Since Kent has agreed to talk again, Jack wants to take this as his opportunity to do what he now knows should have done long ago: apologize.</p><p>“Okay. Go for it.” Kent leans back in his chair, an expectant expression on his face.</p><p>“Parse, I want to apologize.”</p><p>“For what?” Jack knows he’s playing dumb to make this difficult; the problem is that he doesn’t know why.</p><p>“I don’t know, everything?” Jack replies, trying to keep any trace of irritation out of his voice. </p><p>Once upon a time, Kent had expended every ounce of charm and wit at his disposal trying to befriend Jack. Jack, being who he is, had taken it wrongly, assuming Kent was trying to wreck his focus or pull the wool over his eyes, trying to trick him, to make him fail. It was one of Jack’s deepest regrets, that he didn’t recognize the offering of friendship for what it was until long after Kent had seen something worth fighting for in him. It was the beginning of something significant, and Jack had shoved Kent into a locker for the trouble. The irritation fades as Jack recalls what it felt like to have his friendship; what it felt like to be <i>wanted</i>. Jack wonders if Kent is giving him a hard time now because of what Jack did back then. Would Kent be that vengeful? </p><p>“I’m sorry I pushed you into that row of lockers on the first day of school,” he blurts out, and Kent leans forward, searching Jack’s face. The limitations of technology, he hopes, help mask any feelings he’s trying not to give away.</p><p>Even through the rough, pixelly video chat, Jack can see Kent’s eyes clearly. They glint when he shifts in the sunlight.  </p><p>“We’re going back pretty far, then, are we?” Kent asks quizzically.</p><p>“I, euh, I also should apologize for --”</p><p>“Jack, stop,” Kent interrupts. “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry too. But I’m conflicted. I want to tell you to fuck off forever just as much as I want to tell you to come over right now with coffee and donuts and Calc notes. But I can’t tell you to fuck off forever, and you can’t come over right now, and Calc was fourteen years ago.”</p><p>“Thirteen,” Jack corrects quietly.</p><p>“Does that really sound much better to you?”</p><p>“I… no.” Jack pauses, suddenly very interested in the patterns of the wood grain in the table. “But, Kenny. Why can’t you tell me to fuck off?”</p><p>“Watch it. And I can’t because of course I miss you. I miss you all the time.”</p><p>“Then what’s the problem?”</p><p>“We can’t have what we had as kids, Jack. You have to understand that.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Kent’s now focused so hard on Jack that, even through the screens that connect and separate them, Jack can feel the challenge in his voice.</p><p>Before Jack can answer, a door opens behind Kent. Jack’s never been to his apartment, but it’s pretty obvious it’s the front door.</p><p>“Kent, you home? My meeting ended early, I thought I’d surprise you,” comes a strange new voice. A man walks into the room and slowly comes into focus, the closer he gets to Kent and Kent’s computer. Jack can see him set takeout bags on a countertop in the background. He leans down when he gets close to Kent, kissing him on the side of the head. Jack’s stomach does somersaults and he can feel his face drop -- he didn’t realize he’d be confronting this so soon.</p><p>He’s thankful Kent turned away when he heard the door open.</p><p>“Oh! Baby, my favorite, how sweet. It smells perfect,” Kent says warmly, reaching up and cupping the man’s jaw with a hand. The fondness on his face -- Jack knows that face. Jack knows that voice he’s using, that tone, that specific pet name. Jack recognizes this Kent - this Kent used to be his. </p><p>Oh, Jack thinks. <i>Oh.</i></p><p>“Jack,” Kent turns back to the screen. “This is Isaac. Isaac, Jack.”</p><p>Jack grins despite the lurch of his stomach. Isaac. He has great timing, Jack thinks bitterly.</p><p>“Hi. I’m Jack. Well, obviously,” he greets him. </p><p>“Good to meet you, Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Isaac says, and Jack frowns before he can stop himself. Isaac chuckles, and Jack has to grant that it’s a pleasant sound. Isaac has a pleasant face, pleasant laugh lines hung just so, peeking through his well-groomed scruff of a beard. He runs a hand through his sandy, effortlessly tousled hair. He’s pleasantly dressed, smiling pleasantly, and suddenly, Jack feels like a disaster.</p><p>He grins anyway, telling himself that he can have a crisis over this later. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard a whole lot about you.”</p><p>When he says it, he feels like a jackass, but to his surprise, Isaac laughs raucously, as if he’s never heard a joke in his life. And to worsen matters, it sounds genuine. </p><p>So he’s charming, Jack thinks. Lovely. The corner of his smile twitches. </p><p>“He told me you were funny,” Isaac continues, still smiling as if he were born to do it. His teeth are perfect. Jack wants to punch them out. Breathe, he reminds himself. Just breathe.</p><p>“Did he,” Jack says, barely parting his teeth around his words. </p><p>“Well, I’d better let the two of you finish talking. It’s nice to meet you, Jack. It would be lovely to meet for real the next time you’re in Vegas, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” Jack agrees. His heart is pounding, denting itself on his ribcage. He can’t suss out whether he’s angry or envious or heartbroken. It’s probably a combination. It doesn’t matter, he reasons; they all hurt the same.</p><p>“I’m going to take a shower. Come get me when you wrap things up?” Isaac says to Kent. Kent nods, blows him a kiss, and smiles; Jack’s own falters. Luckily, Kent is too distracted to see it.</p><p>“Bye for now, Jack.” Isaac waves before he departs; even his wave is pleasant.</p><p>“He’s pleasant,” Jack remarks when they’re alone again.</p><p>“Sure is,” Kent says, eyeing him oddly. </p><p>“What’s that look for?”</p><p>“What do you mean, <i>pleasant</i>?” Kent whispers harshly. </p><p>“I mean pleasant,” Jack retorts, whisper-hissing back though there’s no one else around him. “What did you tell him about me?”</p><p>“Nothing that isn’t true.”</p><p>“Tell me what that means, Parse,” Jack’s voice grows impatient.</p><p>“I told him you were my best friend, and then something else. I told him we fought a lot. I told him we weren’t anything anymore, but you wanted to be. He said it sounded like, quote, ‘a fine opportunity to reconnect.’”</p><p>“So you’re talking to me again because your boyfriend told you to?”</p><p>“No, you dick. I’m talking to you again firstly because I want to, and secondly because my boyfriend is okay with it.”</p><p>“I… oh.”</p><p>Kent huffs and looks away. He says nothing, folding his arms across his chest.</p><p>“I guess I should add that to the list of things to apologize about, eh?” </p><p>Kent grumbles audibly before his eyes reconnect with Jack’s. “I’m being hard on you to scare you away, you know.”</p><p>Jack says nothing, puzzling over it for a moment. “I won’t let you down again, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”</p><p>“You know I can’t trust that yet, right?”</p><p>“I… yeah, I guess so.”</p><p>“Also,” Kent adds forcefully, “I don’t just do stuff because my boyfriend tells me to. And if that’s the way you think relationships work, then your issues ran a whole lot deeper than micromanagement.”</p><p>“Oh, trust me, I know.” </p><p>Kent stifles a laugh despite himself. “Well, look. I’d better go.”</p><p>“Hey, I -- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude to him.”</p><p>“He’s a good guy, you know.”</p><p>“I’m sure he is. You look happy,” Jack says, careful of the way he says it. He wants this. He wants to be in Parse’s life. If this is what Kent is willing to give him, he isn’t going to waste the opportunity being bitter -- at least not in front of him.</p><p>“I am.” It’s simple, quiet; Jack knows he’s telling the truth.</p><p>“Then I’m happy for you,” Jack responds, his voice still level. For how angry he had been moments ago, he’s amazed he seems to be maintaining his calmness now.</p><p>He supposes therapy is good for some things, after all.</p><p>“Thanks, Zimms.” They smile at each other; it feels like resolution.</p><p>“Talk to you soon?” Jack asks hopefully.</p><p>“I’ll send you my calendar,” Kent agrees. </p><p>When the video disconnects, Jack instinctively reaches for his phone.</p><p>A younger, more mercurial Jack would have needed to numb himself. At a party in high school, before they knew what they really wanted from each other, Kent announced to Jack that he was officially dating Becca Pageau. In response, Jack had taken so many shots of vodka that he blacked out and woke up with a sprained wrist. Present-day Jack, fortunately, has friends besides Kent Parson, and options that can be found outside of a liquor bottle.</p><p><i>“Shitty,”</i> he types into the text box, fingers shaking lightly. <i>“Call me when you can. Please.”</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As you read my fics, hockey/sports fans, you'll probably notice I write absolutely berserk hockey. I don't enjoy my own hockey writing, so I make it entertaining, at least for myself, by writing especially high scoring games. I promise I'm aware of how absurd my hockey writing is, and I promise it's only going to get worse as this fic goes on. Be warned of this.</p><p>Nothing I write, however, is outside the realm of possibility, and this chapter's 10-goal game is based on a Chicago vs. Pittsburgh game back in 2017. I don't actually hate Chicago! At least, not the city or the concept. But they did the same thing to the Red Wings earlier that same year, so it seemed like the logical team to choose for this particular loss. Sorry for this detail and Jack's feelings towards Chicago, Chicago folks.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. and i might be okay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shitty calls Jack just before he’s about to go to bed, which is exactly what Jack expected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is more of a transition into the next one than anything, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks to Sam for the beta and everything else, from keeping me sane to encouraging my insanity. Love you!</p><p>TW for mentioned pet death. I'm also adding the tag to the fic. It is not an intense passage, but if you're worried about it, feel free to hit me up at mushabooom.tumblr.com for a summary of the chapter if you don't wish to read it.</p><p>That's all from me! Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shitty calls Jack just before he’s about to go to bed, which is exactly what Jack expected. He yawns before answering, telling himself, <i>sleep soon, advice now.</i></p><p>“Shits, hey.”</p><p>“My darling Jackothy, how may I serve you this evening? My underhand is actually spectacular these days.”</p><p>“Ha ha,” Jack replies sarcastically. “Can I get straight to the point? It’s past my bedtime.”</p><p>“If you must, you lazy old man.” Shitty exhales sharply, as if this is a huge imposition.</p><p>“I’ve run 20 miles already this week, and I’m the lazy one?” Jack rolls his eyes, of course understanding that Shitty is just talking smack.</p><p>“Okay, okay, I see your point. So what’s up, buttercup?”</p><p>“Remember how I told you my mom sent me that box of shit from Juniors?” </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Well, it… wasn’t shit.” Shitty laughs loudly; Jack pulls the phone away from his ear, rankling. “I’m serious, man. It, I dunno. It made me feel something.”</p><p>“A good something?”</p><p>“I thought so, at first.”</p><p>“So what’s the problem?” Jack hears Shitty pop the tab on a can of something.</p><p>“I, euh, I started talking to Kent again.”</p><p>“No shit!” Shitty exclaims. “What’s up with Parson these days?”</p><p>“Kind of same old? Killing at hockey, crushing at life, loving cats.”</p><p>“Good for him.” Shitty pauses for a moment, probably drinking. “I still don’t see what the issue is.”</p><p>“I guess there isn’t one,” Jack replies sullenly. “I just wanted to talk to someone about -- you know how he and I were like, I dunno, <i>something</i>, way back when?”</p><p>“You’ve alluded to boning him several times, yes.”</p><p>Jack wrinkles his nose. He wouldn’t quite put it that way. “Well, listen, you can’t tell anyone.” Jack wouldn’t tell this to anyone else; he trusts Shitty with his life. He knows he won’t tell anyone, not even Lardo, if Jack asks. </p><p>“Yeah, man, I got you. I’ve never told anyone about the boning, you know this.”</p><p>Jack nods, stifling a groan. He takes a breath and then continues, “But he has a boyfriend now and it’s apparently kind of serious and I’m apparently kind of losing my shit over it.”</p><p>“Fuck me sideways, brah! That’s some news! You’ve really gotta call more often.”</p><p>“I know. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“‘Losing your shit,’ huh?”</p><p>“Yeah. I met his boyfriend over Facetime and I swear I… I just got so jealous. I only kind of controlled myself. Barely.”</p><p>“You want advice, then?” Shits asks. Jack nods, then winces, forgetting Shitty can’t see him.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says instead.</p><p>“Back the fuck up.” Jack moves the phone away from his ear again, staring at it perplexedly. </p><p>“What?” he asks, replacing it against his cheek.</p><p>“Just back up. Back away a bit, look at the big picture! Get some perspective, evaluate what you really want from him and if it’s possible to even get that, if he’s, y’know, taken. And if it’s not, maybe you just gotta let it go. Let him go. Even just for now. Until you’re more stable about it. Capisce?”</p><p>“Capisce,” Jack replies glumly. He’s not sure what it was he wanted to hear; it definitely wasn’t that. He already knows he isn’t going to take this advice. “Thanks, by the way. I’m really sorry I don’t call more.”</p><p>“It’s chill. I know you’re busy.” Jack yawns, and Shitty chuckles at him.</p><p>“We really are turning into lazy old men.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Jack groans. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Tell Lards hey for me.”</p><p>“Will do,” Shitty guarantees. “And Jack, my dude. Don’t forget you recently got out of a serious relationship of your own. Maybe you need some time too, <i>eh</i>?” He punctuates that last word, absolutely to poke fun at Jack.</p><p>“Shut up,” Jack repeats. “I love you, but shut up.”</p><p>“Love you too, brah.”</p><p>Jack sleeps fitfully that night. He dreams of playing tennis with an unfamiliar, grotesque giant, a giant set of eerily perfect teeth gnashing at him. The giant serves up tiny yellow tennis balls with such fury that they rip holes through Jack’s racket, his viscera, his bones. He looks down at himself, counting the holes; he looks like a cartoon piece of Swiss cheese. Instead of blood, they leak saltwater. First in a trickle, then in great gaping waves. <i>I deserve this</i>, dream-Jack thinks. He doesn’t know why he feels that way, doesn’t even know what it is he thinks he deserves. He wakes soaked in a clammy sweat, the sheets tangled and bound around his ankles. </p><p>Luckily, all that he has on his schedule today is an optional skate. After he untangles himself, showers, and eats, he decides that skating would actually help him feel better. Fortunately, he’s only a few minutes late, slipping in inconspicuously, as he had hoped.</p><p>Predictably, two days later, the Falcs get their asses handed to them by the Islanders. The next night, it’s New Jersey; the following game, another two days later, it’s Calgary. They make a valiant attempt, but still lose, in Vancouver. It’s turning into the worst losing streak of Jack’s career.</p><p>Kent texts him after every game: </p><p>
  <i><br/>
“Sorry.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Sorry x2.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Sorry x3.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“...Dude!!”</i>
</p><p>Jack gets it. Jack <i>knows</i>. He knows his team is in a rut. He knows, as captain, he should be doing everything he can to get them out of it. The problem is, he’s been distracted -- since the wedding, grappling with whether he loves or hates Bittle; since the divorce, grappling with whether he loves or hates himself; since the memento box, and that stormy night two months ago, and all his complicated feelings about Kent.</p><p>The Falcs’ second game of the season against the Aces looms. Rather than hockey, however, Kent seems focused on the opportunity for Jack to meet Isaac when Jack is in Vegas next week.</p><p>“I’m not worried about the game. You’re sucking so spectacularly, you could get a Dyson sponsorship.”</p><p>“Parse, c’mon.”</p><p>“You know I’m right!”</p><p>“So tell me about him,” Jack pointedly changes the subject. “I don’t want to be clueless if we’re about to meet.”</p><p>“Like last time?” Kent jokes. </p><p>“Ha ha.” Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like last time. What was I supposed to say?”</p><p>“Maybe just try to be less of a dick <i>all</i> the time.”</p><p>“Fuck off!” Jack laughs. He smiles, then adds, “Seriously. Send me the Isaac Handbook, I wanna know it all.”</p><p>“Well, I have to leave you something to talk to him about,” Kent drawls, pretending he’s trying not to laugh. Jack loves Kent like this, the edges of his true self showing under the sides of his carefully crafted veneer. Jack catches himself grinning, immediately forcing himself to tone his smile down.</p><p>“Okay, well. The Essentials Playlist, then.”</p><p>Kent’s smile goes wider, cheshire-like. “Okay, weirdo. Track number one would be a sweet little surf rock ditty about growing up in LA.”</p><p>“‘Kay,” says Jack, who has never been outside of hotels or arenas in California. He doesn’t care for the dry heat. He makes a mental note: look up stuff about LA. Any stuff. Just… something.</p><p>“Track two: We met on Grindr. So Lady Gaga wrote that song, obviously.”</p><p>“Naturally,” Jack agrees. </p><p>“You listen to Gaga?” Kent asks, looking genuinely delighted by this news.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Jack responds, shrugging.</p><p>“Damn. Bittle did a number on you.”</p><p>“Sure did,” Jack nods. “So. Track three?”</p><p>“Ehh, I’m bored of the metaphor.” Kent stretches, cracking something. “Oof, that’s better. So anyway, we met on Grindr, but don’t bring that up, he’s sensitive about it.”</p><p>“How do you get away with having a Grindr profile? Being… you?”</p><p>“Oh, Jack.” Kent giggles exasperatedly and shakes his head. “Sometimes I forget you married the second dude you ever slept with.”</p><p>“Can we lay off of the shit with Bittle?” Jack asks, leaning his head onto his palm. “I’m kind of still working through it.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck, dude, I’m sorry. I thought -- I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You thought what?” Jack sounds genuinely curious, so Kent feels safe responding.</p><p>“I thought you were at the stage where you wanted to joke about it.”</p><p>“I am, usually. I just -- he called the other day and said he decided he wanted some stuff back that he clearly said he didn’t want, back when we talked about this the first time, and -- I had already gotten rid of it, and he shouted, ‘why would you throw out a gift from my parents,’ and I said -- look, it doesn’t matter. I just.” He exhales harshly. </p><p>“It’s raw again,” Kent offers, looking pensieve. </p><p>“Not quite that bad,” Jack assures him. “But I don’t want to talk about him right now.”</p><p>“I’m happy to keep talking about Isaac, if that helps.”</p><p>“Yes,” Jack says. “Distract me.” He leans back against the pillows, balancing the iPad on his knees.</p><p>Kent chuckles and keeps going. “Okay, so we met for the first time, and get this: he had no idea who I was.”</p><p>“None?” </p><p>“None!” Kent grins dreamily at the memory of it. “It was so fucking refreshing. I was like, ‘my face is on billboards all over town.’ He was like, ‘I’m more of a baseball fan.’”</p><p>Jack laughs harder than he expected he would.</p><p>“So, like,” Kent continues, “we have a really fucking great time, he signs an NDA, no problem, no worries. And then he says, ‘I’d really like to do this again, if you would.’”</p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>“I know! And, like, you’ve seen him. You <i>know</i>.”</p><p>Jack has seen him, and he doesn’t know. He smiles tightly, nodding as if he does.</p><p>“Right? So hot.” Kent looks conspiratorially at Jack, as if Jack is now in on some little secret.</p><p>He supposes he is: not even all of Kent’s team know that he’s gay, much less in a perfect relationship. Jack doesn’t think that last part as bitterly as he might have before, which he considers a balm to his bruised heart.</p><p>“And, bro, I almost completely fucked it up.”</p><p>“What? How?” Jack tries not to feel jilted when Kent calls him ‘bro.’ Why should he?, he thinks. Kent was never his, not like that, after all. The more he tells himself this, he decides, the more true it’ll feel.</p><p>“--he was so funny and charming and kind, and I originally thought he wanted to date, but then because he was acting so sketchy I thought he actually just wanted to get laid.” Jack tunes back into what Kent is saying, thankfully, in time to understand. “And I was so upset! But I kept hooking up with him, because, like, god, I wasn’t going to give that up. And one day I was moping after some <i>really fucking good sex</i>, and he was like, ‘why are you so sad?’ And I actually told him the truth, because… well, why not? Worst case scenario, broken heart. Been there.” Jack gulps, hoping Kent doesn’t hear it. “And it turned out that he was just acting so shady because he’s a goddamn airline pilot, and he texted at weird hours and leaves town all the time because of his <i>job</i>. He didn’t tell me because he thought I didn’t want to get too personal. But I actually did want to get more personal -- so we actually wanted the same thing all along!” Kent blushes, deep rosy red. “I. Sorry, that probably… that sounds cheesy and dumb, but I was so happy. I am so happy.”</p><p>“I can tell,” Jack replies. “It makes me happy to see you happy.” It’s the truth. It’s also true that Jack hates every word that has come out of Kent’s mouth. It’s also true that Jack can feel his own mask slipping, the adoration simply dripping off of every word he sends Kent’s way. He’s said the word “happy” too many times. Any more, and he won’t be able to keep it from sounding like a lie.</p><p>I’m in trouble, he thinks. </p><p>Kent blushes deeper, shrugs, and scowls as he tries to brush Jack off. </p><p>Then Jack <i>knows</i> he’s in trouble. He was never able to resist a flustered Kent, one with strawberry-red cheeks and glowy blue eyes. Like he looks now. Like he looks in Jack’s memories, especially those of teenage Kent in teenage Jack’s back seat, on those rare occasions they found time and privacy, back when it felt like the world spun just because of Kent’s ability to make Jack smile back.</p><p>Not for the first time, Jack wishes he could go back.</p><p>But what would that even accomplish? He fucked up the first time, and he’d find a way to fuck it up again, he’s certain. His addiction wasn’t entirely his fault, just like it wasn’t Kent’s fault for giving him that first pill. Kent didn’t know, back then. How could he have? How could he have predicted the overdose, the draft, any of the bullshit that led up to it? Once upon a time, Jack had blamed Kent for it all. Jack knows now, after copious hours of self reflection, how wrong he was about it all; he wonders if Kent’s figured that out, if he knew it all along. If Kent knew from the start that it wasn’t his fault, if that’s why he kept trying to stay friends after the draft --</p><p>Thinking about all the times he pushed him away, Jack is filled with regret. He decides that, when Kent will let him apologize, he’ll apologize for assigning Kent so much blame, apologize for his violent words and careless actions. On darker days in rehab, he’d fully believed every word he heard and told himself about Kent being an enabler, a bad influence, any number of reasons to leave him as far behind as he could.</p><p>And Kent never let him, until -- </p><p>Until Bittle.</p><p>That shakes Jack awake. He’s still here, in his own house, in his own bed, Kent’s face still dominating the screen in his lap. Kent’s still there, thank god, but he’s distracted.</p><p>Jack’s suddenly grateful. The reasons are twofold: first, Kent is there. Now. He has no good reason to be, and Jack aches for more of him; something he’s certain he can’t have. He tries not to dwell on that.</p><p>Second, Kent’s distraction means he didn’t notice Jack daydreaming.</p><p>He’s looking at something offscreen; Kent starts cooing and wiggling his fingers on the table, and an enormous fluffy grey cat enters the frame.</p><p>“Is that Kit? The cat I’ve heard so much about?” Jack asks.</p><p>“No. This is Purrs.” Kent’s face shifts from its earlier joyous red to its normal, pale pallor. “I, um. I lost Kit two years ago.”</p><p>“Oh.” Jack’s face falls, matching Kent’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”</p><p>“She was a rescue, a runt, and had problems from the beginning. It was her kidneys in the end. Still, it was... hard. I got her the year I moved out of Swoops’s -- he and his now-wife were my billet fam for a couple years. I was so lonely, back then. I just had the team, and -- and not even the whole team.” He sighs wistfully. “It’s gotten easier, of course. And especially now, with Isaac, I....” The warmth comes back to Kent’s face as he trails off, lost in thought.</p><p>Jack nods like he knows again. It’s more to keep Kent from saying anything more about his fuck-buddy-turned-boyfriend; Jack’s not sure how much more of this particular romance he can take. Not when he’s distracted by Kent, looking and talking like this.</p><p>“Well, I’m very excited to meet him for real,” Jack lies.</p><p>“<i>Please</i> tell me you’ll behave this time,” Kent asks, but practically commands.</p><p>“For you,” Jack replies, and this time it’s a promise.</p>
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